


Toes

by orphan_account



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Chicago Blackhawks, First Time Blow Jobs, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Shameless Smut, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 03:13:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3472337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That awkward moment when your BJ scale only goes from 1-10 and you have to make an exception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toes

**Author's Note:**

> frat boys kane and toews.
> 
> (this is my first time ever writing smut so don't laugh at me.)

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

“Mmmmghh...”

Jonathan extended his arm and knocked the alarm clock off of his nightstand. The beeping stopped. He looked over through sleepy eyes to see a shirtless body next to him in his bed, snoring softly, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath.

_Fuck all_ , he thought, moving into a comfortable position on his back.

Memories of the alcohol he had chugged last night swam swiftly through Jonathan's head. A little too swiftly. His hangovers sucked; legions of headaches and a sour stomach almost wasn't worth the many, many shots of liquor he had downed last night at a stupid frat party in this damned frat house. Of course, he was also faced with another problem. Who was this random ass dude in bed with him?

-

“Mr. Toes,” slurred one of Jonathan's frat brothers, Hank, “I'd like you to meet Patrick Kane, one of my most esteemed friends.”

The burly Hank gestured over-dramatically to the guy beside him. He was small, slight, very faintly muscular, and Jonathan towered over him a good four or five inches. Jonathan gave him a glance, trying to keep his eyes focused when he shook the guy's hand. The tequila he had downed earlier was getting to him. He grinned a lopsided grin. Patrick mirrored him.

“Nice to meet'cha,” Jonathan said. Patrick nodded. It was then that Hank was called over from elsewhere, probably to go play strip beer pong or some shit.

“So,” started Patrick, “'sthere a reason they call you 'Toes' or is that really your name?”

Jonathan laughed, taking a long sip from the solo cup in his hand that was filled with some type of beer.

“Nah. Not actually my name, just spelled like Toes, I guess. It's pronounced 'Taves' but whatever. I'm just known as Mr. Toes in this house.”

“Well, Mr. Toes,” Patrick punched Jonathan playfully, grinning wildly, “tell me a bit about yourself.”

Jonathan had a reputation for being, to put it simply, the most popular guy to ever grace UND's campus. He was like the star quarterback of the football team, except he _hated_ football and spent most of his time sleeping around, playing hockey, and writing. His whole life was almost a cliché. And now here he was, spilling out random stories to some drunk guy he had just met who was quite obviously flirting with him.

An hour had passed. The music in the house was only slightly dimming. Jonathan pulled out his phone and checked the time. It was almost midnight, and considering it was a Thursday, he would have classes tomorrow. Then again, he didn't really see himself waking up to an alarm in the morning after swallowing his weight's worth in alcohol, kindly supplied by Patrick, who, like a sort of devilish Energizer bunny, kept on talking and talking and talking. He was hammered as well, Jonathan noticed. Somehow, a little while later, the two ended up in Jonathan's room, after Patrick had inquired about the number of medals hanging up on his wall.

Jonathan sat down on his bed as he watched Patrick skim the wall in front of him.

“Im...pressive,” he hiccuped. “You a hockey player too, eh? I live in Michigan, I'm only out here 'cause my aunt's getting married, and I figured I'd stop by to see Hank. We grew up on the same street.”

Jonathan listened as attentively as he could to Patrick's rambling. The 19-year-old's ears were ringing. The bass line of the music shook the walls. He hadn't noticed, but Patrick had come to sit beside him, and his hand stroked the top of Jonathan's thigh.

He looked up, surprised for a moment to see the other boy's eyes a so much darker shade of blue than they had been a few hours ago. Perhaps it was the alcohol. Patrick's breath smelled of it: hot and mildly inviting to Jonathan.

“What now?” He whispered to Patrick, who leaned in closer.

“Hank told me you had a...thing... for everybody. That true, Mr. Toes?”

_What the fuck Hank. First the Toes thing, now you go around telling everyone I'm bi? Not that I blame you for this situation, and not that there's anything wrong with being into dudes and girls... but still..._

“Depends on if the door's locked, Kane.”

-

“ _Fuck_ , Patrick.” Jonathan's voice was choked and raspy, and he tried very hard to hide his shallow breathing. It took almost all of his willpower to stop himself from bucking forward, farther into Patrick's mouth.

On a scale of all the blowjobs he had ever received, Jonathan gladly would rate this an 11.

Patrick was sweaty, shirtless, and Jonathan had his fingers tangled in his dirty blonde curls. The younger man ran his tongue along the sensitive underside of Jonathan's dick, and then sheathed it all the way up to the back of his throat. Jonathan moaned, tightening his grip on Patrick's hair. He was close.

“Don't... don't stop, Pat.”

Patrick let out a giggly moan at the sound of Jonathan calling him that, and he sucked harder, bringing his hand up to grab the base of his dick. Jonathan didn't even try to hide his haggard breaths, as he edged closer and closer. Patrick sensed this, and slowed his pace down, almost to the point where Jonathan was in pain.

“Fuck me... _Jesus_.. fucking...” Jonathan twitched, and came in Patrick's mouth. With an exasperated sigh, Jonathan collapsed back onto his bed, casually pulling up his sweatpants over his naked lower half. Patrick crawled onto the bed next to him, and in a matter of minutes, the two were passed out, Patrick's short and stout body intertwined with Jonathan's lean, lanky one.

-

_Oh, I remember now. Fucking hell, what a guy_ , thought Jonathan. He had come to the realization that the guy snoring next to him was Patrick.

_Patrick_.

Jonathan said the name over and over in his mind, and he wrapped an arm around the other boy's torso, careful not to wake him. Jonathan went back to sleep.

A few hours later, when the sun was higher and cast a more prominent amount of light into the room, he woke up again, only this time, there was no Patrick Kane beside him. Almost on cue, Jonathan's phone buzzed, causing him to sit up suddenly. He unlocked it and went to his messages, where a winky-face emoji greeted him under a new contact: 'Pat.'

_What a dime, that kid._


End file.
